Rogue

“Don't be silly,” she said, glancing at her watch. Of all days for him to call her. She had been playing beat the clock since that morning. “It was an honest mistake. Adolescent suicidality isn't your specialty. Believe me, I wouldn't know what to do with a ninety-two-year-old with a hip, pneumonia, and a boyfriend.”

“That's generous of you. How about lunch?” he persisted.

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know that, but I'd like to. What are you doing tomorrow?” Her mind went blank at the question. What was this man doing asking her to lunch, and why? She felt silly. She never took time out of her schedule for professional lunches with other physicians.

“I don't know …I…I might have a patient,” she said, groping for a reason to decline the invitation.

“Then what about the next day? You have to eat lunch sometime.”

“Well, yes, I do … when I have time,” which wasn't often. She felt foolish when she blurted out that she was free on Thursday. She glanced at her appointment book as she said it. “But you really don't have to.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he said, laughing at her. He suggested a restaurant that was near her office, to make it convenient for her. It was small and pleasant and she occasionally had lunch there with her mother. It had been years since she took time out to lunch with girlfriends. She preferred to see patients, and at night she stayed home with the kids. Most of the women she knew were just as busy as she was. She hadn't had much of a social life in years.

They made a date for noon on Thursday, and Maxine looked startled as she hung up the phone. She wasn't sure if it was a date, or a professional courtesy, but either way, she felt slightly silly. She hardly remembered what he looked like. She had been so upset about Hilary Anderson on Friday morning that all she remembered was that he was tall, and had graying blond hair. The rest of his appearance was a blur, not that it mattered. She made a note in her book, returned two more calls as quickly as she could, and saw her last patient.

She had to cook dinner for the children that night, since Zelda was in bed on painkillers. The day ended as it began, harried and stressful. And she managed to burn dinner, so they ordered pizza.

The next two days were equally stressful, and it was Thursday morning when she suddenly remembered the lunch date she had made with Charles West. She sat at her desk looking at her appointment book bleakly. She couldn't imagine what had made her do it. She didn't even know him, nor want to. The last thing she needed was lunch with a total stranger. She glanced at her watch and realized that she was already five minutes late, grabbed her coat, and hurried out of the office. She didn't even have time to put on lipstick or comb her hair, not that she cared.

When Maxine reached the restaurant, Charles West was already waiting at a table. He stood up when he saw her walk in, and she recognized him. He was tall, as she had remembered, and nice looking, and appeared as though he was in his late forties. He smiled and stood up as she approached the table.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” she said, slightly flustered, as he noticed the look of caution in her eyes. He knew enough about women to know that, unlike his ninety-two-year-old patient, this was not a woman looking for a boyfriend. Maxine Williams looked distant and guarded. “I've had a crazy week in the office,” she added.

“So have I,” he said pleasantly. “I think holidays drive people nuts. My patients all get pneumonia between Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I'm sure yours don't fare well over the holidays either.” He looked very easygoing and relaxed, as the waiter asked if they wanted to order drinks. She declined, and Charles ordered a glass of wine.

“My father is an orthopedic surgeon, and he always says everyone breaks their hip between Thanksgiving and New Year.” Charles looked intrigued when she said it, wondering who her father was.

“Arthur Connors,” she added, and Charles instantly recognized the name.

“I know him. He's a terrific guy. I've referred patients to him.” Charles actually looked like the sort of man her father would have approved of.

“Everyone in New York refers their hardest cases to him. He's got the busiest practice in town.”

“So what made you pick psychiatry instead of going into practice with him?” Charles looked at her with interest as he sipped his wine.